


Fuel to Fire

by TheLastJuiceBox



Category: Frostpunk (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Non-Binary Character, Chess Metaphors, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, Other, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28351329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastJuiceBox/pseuds/TheLastJuiceBox
Summary: Sometimes, August likes to whistle. When a familiar deeply rooted solitude tries to take hold, he silences the howling wind with a melody.August hasn’t whistled in months. Hasn’t needed to. Not since he’d found something worth saving.Things will be different this time.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)





	Fuel to Fire

We roamed the stale, cold world... The rulers of old, stripped, of pride and glory. It feels as if yesterday we were turning the wheels of progress. Until the frost... stopped it all. When tides were changed, they changed for all of us. No matter the class. We lost our world to snow, and with it, the last traces of humanity. We bid farewell to plenty, and to those who remained came the time to adapt. We decided to leave our homes and head north. We roamed for weeks, maybe months. Leaving behind all the things we once believed had made us. It was hope that pushed us forward. Slowly, step by step. We knew the cost of our journey, and we paid the price. A hundred times. Finally, the time has come to build the last city on Earth. 

The city must survive.

-Wojciech Setlak

**365:00:00:00**

The thrum of the generator sends a gentle vibration running along August’s spine, though the feeling is difficult to differentiate from the near constant shivers across his skin as the frost attempts to penetrate the thick layers of furs and fabric that envelop his frame. Acting as the city center, the generator stands tall, a tower that rises far above the other structures surrounding it. Sitting at the top of the spire, August can see far past the outskirts of this lost city. It operates as both a beacon that lights the way for hopeless wanderers and as the most essential resource that keeps the numbing cold at bay. If he looks hard enough at the endless tundra of white, he thinks he might see shades of blue and grey. Anything to contrast the ever-constant blank horizon that greets him every morning.

When the frost came, the change was slow, yet all at once. Shocking, but not unexpected. Terrifying, yet calm. Not unlike being in the eye of the storm. Disaster surrounds you, people cry for help, hope has never felt so out of reach, yet all you can do is look around and take it all in. Does that make you a monster? Does it make you heartless? Does that make you any less human? I’m sure you’ll find different answers if you ask the right people. You might even find the one you’re looking for. But what does it matter if you already have an answer that you’ve created solely for yourself. What do you do if it’s not as pretty as you’d hoped?

A rhythmic tapping rouses him from his own thoughts. His eyes swiftly rise from the floor to land on the figure standing by the edge of the platform: Astrid. Her fingers drum a steady beat against the rusty metal infrastructure by her side while she hums a quiet tune under her breath. The caramel tint of her hair is turned to warm orange by the blaze of the beacon that illuminates their hideaway. The movement of the flames lays delicate shadows over her body that seem almost eager to dance to the nostalgic melody.

It hadn’t been too long ago since Astrid had reasoned that a healthy dose of perspective was key to staying sane in a time where lucidity was sometimes difficult to maintain. That taking a step back to watch the snow pile up on the roofs of the countless hastily built homes surrounding the beacon was just enough to remind her that this will pass. In time. Idly, he wonders if she still feels that way.

Deeper in the warmth of their hideaway, two forms huddled together with nonsensical words filling the space between them. A deck of cards lies scattered on the ground besides them as their banter proves to be more interesting than whatever game they’d undoubtedly played a hundred times before. Long fingers distractedly draw circles on the ground. His gaze follows their languid movements before moving up the length of their arm, all the way to the face of the newest addition to their group, Juno. 

To put it bluntly, August wasn’t quite sure what to make of Juno. With an uncanny ability to skirt around their past and a strange scar over their right eye, he can tell there’s more to them than they’re currently willing to give. A storm rumbles behind their stare, a constant thunder they barely manage to rid themselves of for a single breath, just long enough to unmask another part of themselves to the friends standing before them. The only people they’re willing to rely on when trust is so scarce. And so, August pretends not to notice the occasional plastic edges of their smile. 

Still, they fit into the dynamic of the other three naturally, like the puzzle piece they didn’t know was missing. Lucia, on the other hand, in all her viridity, seems perfectly out of place. It was almost as if she won’t let the despair-ridden world she’s found herself in take anymore from her than it already had. No, despite everything, Lucia will always be there with an unusual warmth that the city’s generator can’t provide and a promise that things will get better as long as they have each other. 

Juno’s eyes trail over the animated gestures Lucia waves into the air. Sometimes, they try to let themselves believe in that promise too. 

**302:11:16:39**

“You know, there’s a lot to be learned from chess,” Juno says with a pawn held between their thumb and index finger. The wooden chess piece is practically an antique, clearly worn down from years of use with nicks and cuts marring the edges. Setting the pawn back down on the board, they continue, “If you spend all your time chasing lowly pawns, you may be on the receiving end of an opponent who cares less about small victories and more about winning the war.” 

August notices Juno’s eyes can’t help but stop and appreciate the intricate details that went into making the set. With wood that is (unsurprisingly) cold to the touch, it’s easy to see that the board was well loved and cared for, but time does irreversible damage to the things that are treasured most. Even the most perfect ripe fruit will eventually wither away into a decayed unrecognizable form. 

“It’s important to never make the same mistake twice. The second time an error is made, it’s not a mistake, it’s a choice,” they state as they finally lift their gaze to meet August’s across from them. Their chin fits snugly in the palm of their hand as their brown hair escapes the confines of their hair tie to fall lazily into their eyes.

He takes a moment to inhale deeply, filling his lungs with stinging air, before exhaling his reply, “That’s great Juno. That doesn’t change the fact that it’s your turn and it’s  _ been _ your turn for seven minutes.”

Posture deflating, they resign themself to contemplating their next move once more. At the beginning of the group’s tentative camaraderie, August was the only person who knew how to play chess beyond simply understanding how each piece moved. A simple how-to game quickly escalated into August and Juno frequently breezing into the hideout early just to get a game or two in before the others arrived, light chatter and pensive silences subtly coloring the otherwise vibrant shared space. Finally, they make their move, opting to nudge one of their pawns further on the board.

With little pause, August moves his knight forward, prompting a raised eyebrow from his opponent. Shrugging in response, he sits back while Juno searches his expression. 

Swiftly taking his advancing piece with a pawn of their own, they add, “August, I’ve seen your play style, you can do better than that.”

Hand coming up to fiddle with the necklace around his neck, he shoots back, “Or maybe you’re just getting better.” 

As he makes his next move, he hears a soft laugh. With their head slightly tilting to the side and an amused smile playing at their lips, they answer, “You’re really kind, August.” Escaping the sleeves of the thick coat wrapped around their body, their fingertips leisurely dance along the remaining pieces on the board. “I really hope that doesn’t end up biting you in the ass.” At last, they move their queen forward.

“Checkmate.”

**00:02:16:11**

He plants his gaze firmly on the landscape behind the city lines, “You can come with me. We can leave this place, just the two of us.” 

**249:07:38:43**

The rungs of the ladder are coated with a sleek layer of ice that only serves to pump more adrenaline into his veins. With each step he takes higher off the ground, he feels steadily more weightless, like the stress that’s constantly perched on his shoulders is erased until the soles of his boots hit the ground again. The stress of staying warm is nothing compared to the feeling of panic he gets when his foot slips off a step, and he has to pray that his grip won’t fail him. 

Hey, sometimes you have to go a little insane to stay sane.

Finally, he notices a gloved hand inches from his face, and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He doesn’t waste a second before grabbing it and being pulled unceremoniously from the ladder onto his feet (which are feeling far more unstable than he’s willing to admit to himself). A pair of hands move to steady him.

“Hey, you alright?” Astrid stands before him with a soft crease between her brows. She can deny it all she wants, but the four of them know very well that Astrid has taken on somewhat of a caretaker role within the group. It shows itself in small ways: an extra glance towards Lucia to make sure she isn’t being left behind, a grounding touch when Juno seems too lost in their own head, or a helping hand that always seems to be there when August needs it most. 

With a reassuring nod, he responds “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a bit more slippery than usual. I’m starting to think the caution signs at the base of the tower might actually have a point.”

“Ha, no kidding,” Astrid says with a light chuckle as she turns back to the edge of the platform just as Lucia’s head peeks up.

Taking Astrid’s outstretched hand, Lucia huffs out, “Yep, I can definitely see why coming up here is prohibited now.” A pause. “Not that that’ll stop us, but you know.” 

Their choice of location for their hideout was probably not the wisest decision. With rules and regulations tightening up more and more, the consequences for getting caught scrambling up the city’s generator wouldn’t be pretty. But, there’s something unmatched about the feeling of being on top of the world. The traces you’ve marked on the ground are indistinguishable from the countless others that people have left behind. A footprint here, a stain there, it’s all nothing. Any semblance of connection you may feel towards the reality that abandoned you in the cold is so fragile. Easily shattered. In the refuge they’d created for each other, they are untouchable. 

It’s a drop of paradise, and no one can take that away from them. 

Finally, Juno hauls themself over the ledge with an exaggerated sigh parting their lips, “I’m half-afraid this tower is going to fall apart one of these days.”

He pauses for a second, before hesitantly supplying, “Well, your fears aren’t completely unfounded.” 

At this, the group’s movements falter and they all turn to stare at August. A tense moment passes before Lucia breaks the hush with a small, “You’re not serious, right?”

A noncommittal shrug shifts his shoulders as he turns his eyes delicately away from the prying stares of his friends, “I don’t know who built this, but a few screws loose here and there and this whole generator could come undone.” He feels a slight twinge of regret in his chest when he sees Lucia’s complexation pale at his remark, “I think... no one is really sure how to fix it without making it worse, so they’re just letting it be for now.”

The air is taut with anxiety as they mull over his words. Seeing their tight expressions and down-cast gazes, August can feel guilt painfully crawling its way up his throat. Without meaning to, his thoughts can’t seem to deviate from one simple desire: to protect.

When had he become so attached to the people in front of him that he’d be willing to go to hell and back just to ensure that they’d be alright? When had his own need to survive become overshadowed by the overwhelming urge to keep his friends safe? When had they become so important to him?

When did the thought of protecting someone else become so damn terrifying?

Swallowing down his anxiety, he makes a promise, “I’ll make things ok.”

Love is a grim fate. Makes you  _ want _ , makes you want more than you think you deserve. It makes you as dangerous as you’ll let it, and twice as weak.

Astrid lets a small smile cross her features.

Yes, love is a truly terrible fate.

**\--:--:--:--**

Sometimes,  **August** likes to compare the sound of the howling wind to other more familiar noises. 

Like the sound of a whistling kettle. With promises of warmth and flavor, the shrill piping is nothing more than a minor inconvenience that precedes comfort. August used to love drinking tea, unashamedly traveling miles just to get to his favorite tea house. He can still distinctly remember the aroma that would hit his senses the moment he walked in. Something about the fragrance seemed to bleed into the walls and furniture of the quaint shop, covering every square inch in a layer of serenity. The tea itself was brewed flawlessly, allowing each and every nuance of the tea leaves to melt on his taste buds. With warmth that seeped into his very being, he remembers his last visit to the tea house perfectly, down to the very last detail of the person who accompanied him.

He remembers his brother wore red that day, like the tea cup he cradled in his hands. 

The wind also reminds August of crashing waves. He remembers when the oceans weren’t frozen over, but were moving and  _ alive _ . The rolling waves were like steady inhales and exhales of a creature so vast and powerful that humanity could never hope to contain it. And yet, despite the dangers, countless people wander into its colors. They paint themselves with the blue of the deepest depths and dance with the vitality it passes to them. The ocean is a generous spirit, always willing to harbor the myriad of creatures that come to enjoy its presence. August remembers his last visit to the sea perfectly, down to the expression on his brother’s face.

He remembers his brother’s smile was stained orange, like the sun disappearing beneath the horizon.

The wind also sounds like screaming. The never-ending wailing of air ripping through him is far too similar to the panicked cries of anguished families struggling to survive in the burning cold. There were too many hands, it felt like they were crawling all over him while he couldn’t focus on anything but the yells of desperation. He held fast onto the only person that mattered as he pushed and shoved his way through the hordes of survivors. He had to keep moving, he  _ had _ to. But all he could think of is the screaming, the  _ fucking _ screaming. One final push, that’s all he needs. He can make it, he has to. For him.

He remembers his brother was cold, a blue shade was beginning to bloom in his fingertips.

The wind reminds August of silence. Some silences speak volumes, and others are deafening. This time, it was ringing in his ears, haunting him. The world was muted, all noises and sounds erased. He remembers feeling his throat burning. He was cold, colder than he’d ever felt before. It was seeping its way into his bones. And he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

He remembers his brother was gray, with an unusual stillness that left August numb.

Sometimes, August likes to whistle. When a familiar deeply rooted solitude tries to take hold, he silences the howling wind with a melody. 

August hasn’t whistled in months. Hasn’t needed to. Not since he’d found something worth saving. 

Things will be different this time.

**00:02:15:48**

His grip tightens, “You don’t need to stay here.”

**104:20:37:02**

“Favorite color?”

“Is that all you can come up with?”

“I never claimed to be any good at coming up with questions.”

The gentle buzz of laughter is warm in his chest as he lays on his back, eyes lazily studying the stars above him. With innumerable glowing spots in the sky, he finds he can’t focus on any of them for more than a second. From their bite-sized portion of the universe, everything suspended in the night sky looks practically identical, almost insignificant in their uniformity. And August realizes, in this moment, he really couldn’t care less.

A thoughtful hum reaches his senses from somewhere to his right as Lucia ponders her response, “I’m gonna have to go with blue.”

“Hm, fair enough,” Juno voices through a yawn. “Alright, now someone creative should ask something.”

August can’t remember the last time they did this. Just laying together in a circle, heads nudging each other in the center, talking about things that really didn’t matter. Not to anyone else. He can’t help but feel that the delicate environment they’ve created is precious, something sacred. That if he lets go of this feeling, it will have never happened in the first place.

“No takers? Ok, I’ll nominate someone,” He feels an arm bump against his side as Juno declares, “August, it is now officially your turn.”

He lets out an exaggerated groan that elicits a few snickers from the friends that probably should have gone to sleep several hours ago. He leisurely turns his body so he’s laying on his stomach before slowly pronouncing, “Juno, since you’re so eager, this one goes out to you.”

They noticeably perk up and turn to match August’s posture, “Alright, shoot.”

Filling the air with unnecessary suspense (which prompts a grumpy protest from Astrid), he finally says, “What’s your tell?”

“... My what?”

He tries to suppress the half-smile that wants to reach his lips as he explains, “When you lie, what’s your tell? What shows that you’re not telling the truth in your body language?”

A contemplative look crosses their face, like they’re searching for the best answer. Or, August speculates, wondering if they should reveal their answer at all.

Abruptly, a finger is pointed at his face. His clearly confused look must be the only cue they need as they quickly supply, “Right here. I’ll stare at the point right between someone’s eyes.” They punctuate their words with a light tap on the spot before lowering their hand. Their voice drops to a whisper, “Looking away is too obvious, so this is my alternative.”

Their response is… unexpectedly honest. Yes, he supposes that they could have easily lied and made something up, but something in the sincere, yet unsure smile on their features makes him feel as though they’d all been let in on a secret. Something Juno truly hasn’t shared with anyone. 

“What about you, August?” says Astrid as she tips her head back to observe the upright pair. “What’s your tell?”

“Oh,” he hesitates for a moment before reasoning that it wouldn’t be fair if he misled them after Juno’s confession. His fingers come up to tug at the chain that dangles from his neck, “I start to mess with my necklace.”

At this, Astrid’s eyes come to rest on the simple charm that hangs between his collar bones: a bee. Over time, the yellow tint gradually faded away leaving nothing but a metallic silver tone for the uncomplicated design. Mind naturally wandering to the previous owner of the necklace, the familiar ache in his chest returns.

He doesn’t like to think about the day his brother died. Hates the guilt that rips him apart from the inside when he analyzes all the things he could have done differently. Dreads recalling the memory of when he had to unclasp the chain from the rapidly cooling skin of his neck before feeling his stomach turn inside out in delayed horror. Resents the suffocating feeling that clogs up his throat when he tries to push his past far behind him.

But maybe, just this once, he can allow himself to feel. It will hurt. He  _ knows _ it will. Knows it will leave more than a few scars on his mind. But the mere thought of being able to think about him without shame digging its claws into his memoirs brings him an overwhelming sense of relief. Like the iron grip on his lungs loosened for the first time since the frost nipped at his skin. No, it won’t be easy, and he’s certain his resolve may waver along the way, but August has never been one to shrink back from a challenge. 

And something tells him that, between the four of them, there will always be someone to catch him if he falls.

Astrid’s words come out softly, “It’s beautiful.” A comfortable quiet envelopes the group before he notices her hand come to rest over his. Their eyes meet as a warm smile tugs at her lips, “The sun is coming up.” 

The group turns their attention to the golden rays that peer over the edge of the world, slowly brushing away the specks of light that litter the sky to replace them with a gentle glow. 

“Happy birthday August.”

**\--:--:--:--**

**Lucia** was never the last person to arrive at the hideout. 

On some days, she liked to make her way up the ladder far earlier than the rest of the group. As the first to turn up, she’d claim the spot nearest to the heat of the generator and let the heat seep through her skin, warming her down to her core. Distant memories of humid summer days and refreshing ocean mist danced around her consciousness. Rays of sunlight brimming with simple joys. The gentle sway of a boat on clear, blue water. A revitalizing breeze that finds a sharp contrast in the bone chilling flurries that currently fill the air. It feels so far away. Less real than it once was. Hearing the sounds of gentle footsteps approaching, she’d raise her hands closer to the heat and hold on to a bit of hope.

Warm summer days will return.

Other times, Lucia would be the second to arrive, and settle herself next to August. With a giggle slipping from her lips and mirth reaching the corner of her eyes, she’d begin telling stories. Despite her endless claims that she wasn’t an adept storyteller, there was something entrancing about watching her retell some of the moments in her day that made her laugh. Whether it was an embarrassing fall or the priceless expression on Juno’s face after a particularly terrible pun, Lucia found a way to make the air buzz with a soft jubilation that was almost impossible to come by. Even as she stuttered her way through the punchline, August realized his heart felt lighter than before. 

Summer will be filled with laughter. 

On rare occasions, Lucia was the third person to make it up the tower. With heavy steps, she’d sit herself between the comfort of two of her closest friends. With shoulders pressed together and arms coming to wrap around hunched shoulders, they’d relax into each other’s warmth with a quiet understanding enveloping them. Some days, joy is harder to come by, and the soft security of trusted confidants puts one at ease far more than the essential heat of the generator. As August approached the trio, Lucia tilted her head towards him, and silently reached out her hand. 

Summer will be spent together. 

Lucia was never the last person to arrive. Yet, when August climbed his way up the ladder, the sun steadily making its way below the horizon, she wasn’t among the two people waiting for him. The sense of dread is familiar.

Summer may come, but winter is here.

**00:02:15:28**

“You’re all I have. I can’t let them take you too.”

**103:15:59:32**

It seems the generator wasn’t the only building ready to come down with a few loose screws. They said it was one of the outposts. That it had come crumbling down on top of a dozen or so workers. That most had gotten out with minor injuries. All but one. 

August finds the silence is deafening once more. He hoped to never hear the muted rings screeching in his ears again. Never wanted to feel the icy sensation claw its way up his throat a second time. But watching the uncomfortable stillness settle over Lucia’s body, he feels history repeat itself.

**102:18:29:40**

The cemetery is a lonely place. Scattered memories, honest regrets, and misty mourning work to drown any and all who dare to face those they have lost. Rather than a shrine of mementos and remembrance, it’s become an abyss to forget. As cruel as it may be, it is far easier to erase someone than to resent them for leaving.

Standing alone, August realizes that he cannot remember the parts of him that are himself. The distance between him and the grave he overlooks feels both unreachable and suffocatingly close. His hands tremble at his sides, shaking with the desire to do  _ something _ . Anything other than accepting this as fate. There is no bullshit preordained destiny that would force him to go through this. Not again. 

And so, reality feels hazy. Incomplete. He’s present, but entirely vacant. Filled to the brim, but emptier than he thought was possible. In this storm of dichotomy and contradictions, August thinks it might be easier to get lost in this feeling.

And in the middle of the chaos, there was her.

Astrid's fingertips barely graze his cheek, yet it burns all the same. The sting of shame dances along the skin she touches, a sensation that feels unnaturally comfortable in his passive state. Despite his paralyzed form, she is patient, her gentle tracing continuing across the exposed skin of his features. She cares, perhaps more than she should. Her hand comes to a stop as it carefully cradles his profile. Her gaze is thoughtful, eyes trained on his expression as she poses a silent question.

He doesn’t answer.

Isn’t ready to.

Doesn’t know if he ever will be.

**100:03:56:14**

The night is silent. The usually unceasing howling wind has quieted to a gentle stinging breeze while the typical sounds of snow crunching under heavy boots has slowed to the occasional pitter patter of passersby stumbling their way to whatever home awaits them. One by one, the lights illuminating the various tents and huts are extinguished until the only flare left in the darkness is the beacon burning steadily behind the trio. It feels as though the town has quieted for a single night. Tomorrow, life will return to the busy streets and crossroads and the deafening silence will be erased as if it never existed. But for now, they have this moment.

Astrid's head lies resting on August’s legs as she unconsciously curls herself tighter around a nameless bottle of vodka in her sleep. Maybe alcohol wasn’t the best cure for the foul feeling that’s made its way into each of their stomachs. The weight of what they’d seen has slowly spread into their veins, poisoning each and every limb with a sickening cold feeling. It feels harder to breathe with every passing moment. 

August takes a swig of the admittedly nasty bottle in his clenched hand, and the chill recedes once more. No, drinking isn’t the best solution, but it’s a solution all right. 

He idly turns his gaze to see Juno with their head tilted back, eyes fixed to the sky. Their jaw looks painfully clenched and a certain focus can be found in their stare, as if the stars are to be blamed for the ache in their chest. For a single breath, a unidentifiable emotion crosses their expression, and an eerie sense of calm envelops their being. A question begins to materialize in his mind, but before he can manage to get any words out, they turn to him with all traces of that moment gone, leaving only a grim smile behind. 

“It’s cold out tonight,” they state lightly.

“Isn’t it always?”

“Ha, cheers to that,” they say with a snort before snatching August’s drink from his hand and raising it to the sky. Lowering it to their nose, they take a whiff before grimacing and promptly placing it down besides them. With a finger idly tracing the scar over their eye, a sigh escapes their lips before they mumble, “This town is really going to shit.”

August’s gaze returns to the gloomy sprawl of makeshift buildings that stand beneath them. Time has not improved the view as everything seems to be steadily falling apart right before their eyes. What used to be a symbol of hope has become nothing but a reminder of what they’d lost and what cruel fate awaits them if they can’t turn things around. With a wince, he responds, “Sure, it’s looking pretty awful now, but that doesn’t mean we’re doomed yet. I’m sure the crew that’s organizing everything is doing the best with what they’ve got.”

An abrupt snort startles August into looking back at Juno as they can’t seem to contain their snickers. After a moment, a giggle begins to rise in his chest until the pair are unable to stop their shared fit of laughter from echoing into the quiet of the town. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, they lean against each other, attempting to silence their sniggers so they don’t accidentally wake Astrid up from her thankfully peaceful slumber. Finally, stillness returns. 

“What would this town look like if you were in charge, August?” 

He takes a minute to contemplate his answer. There’s no doubt that managing a large group of hopeless lost souls is a challenge. No one expected the world to freeze over, and everyone was wildly unprepared. Salvaging what’s left and trying to create a home for all those who have lost their own is almost certainly the most demanding and hellish job out there these days. And he can’t even begin to imagine the overwhelming guilt that would come with being solely responsible for the newest grave beneath the snow. For stealing the last breath of someone who trusted you to keep them safe- 

Swallowing down the nausea rising in his throat, he answers with a half-hearted smile, “Honestly, I’m not completely sure. Hopefully there’d be less of a mess at the very least. Adding some lighting fixtures here and there wouldn’t hurt either, we get a lot more dark then light nowadays.” 

A noncommittal hum sounds from Juno’s spot as they kick their legs back and forth off the edge of the tower. “What, is the giant beacon in the center of town not enough for you? Getting greedy?” They say with a teasing smile tugging at their lips. 

“What about you, Juno? What would this town look like if you were in charge?”

The rhythmic beating of their legs stops suddenly. The air feels colder. Their stare turns up towards the stars as the mysterious expression returns to their face once more. 

“Like ash.”

**79:13:54:02**

They say the city speaks. That the shuffling of heavy boots and tired men is carefully lined with words that are heard only when you learn to listen. She whispers through the cracks of shelters, tells stories from the edges of snow-covered rooftops, and shares rumors with those who seek them out. Her words are honest, though not always correct. Quiet, but far louder than the new gaudy banners on the walls that claim that ‘safety comes with discipline’. Gentle, yet destructive in the hands of a soul who knows what power they hold. 

The usual chatter in the evenings spent atop the spire has become subdued. Despite Astrid and August’s protests, Juno is absent more often than not. They claim to be busy, roaming the streets at the elusive hour between night and day, searching for answers. Answers to what?

_ “I’m not sure yet. But I‘ll know when I find what I’m looking for.” _

And so, left with only a cryptic response and a distinct lack of promises, what once was four is down to two. Sitting in the silence, August realizes that the extra chill in the air has less to do with the snow, and more to do with the abandoned deck of cards resting in the space that seems far emptier than it should be. Incomplete. 

The world feels far away.

August never liked dancing. Priding himself on his ability to pick new skills up quickly, he can’t begin to express his frustrations about the one skill that always managed to elude him. In precise footwork and uncomfortable sways and shapes, August struggled to get his bearings before quickly finding that his body seemed to reject any and all dance-related movements. With uncertainty in every step and stiffness seizing his motions, determination promptly lost to vexation.

So no, August never liked dancing, but he can’t bring himself to say no when Astrid drags him to his feet and into the center of the hideout, twirling around his hesitant figure. The natural rhythm of her body proves that not even the lack of music can stop her from slowly nudging him into her cadence. 

And with this, the world comes a little closer. 

Soft hands and graceful touches. With cautious paces, a generous dose of vulnerability, and a gentle thrumming where skin meets skin, the two find themselves getting lost in the slow sway that carries them through the depths of their shared oblivion. The limbo shivers. It stands strong, but easily breakable. In the hollowness, however, August stares into a pair of intense blue eyes. 

August’s voice comes out more raspy than he intends, “I’m fine.”

She lets him breathe, slowly leaning her own head closer until he can feel her warmth drifting between them. With foreheads softly pressed against one another, shallow breaths intermingling, she whispers.

“I know you’re not.”

**73:55:09:30**

Juno returns a few nights later, steadier than they once were, yet quiet like the dead. With a hand hesitantly gripping their arm, August asks them where they’ve been. If they’re alright. If they found what they were looking for. And yet, despite a supply of reassurances and promises, he finds their words far emptier than before. 

Their tone is completely controlled

Expression carefully managed

Smile perfectly plastic

**\--:--:--:--**

**Astrid** didn’t like noticing the changes in the city. 

Upon arriving to what was soon known as the last city on Earth, the city was alive. A constant buzz filled the streets and a surge of motivation launched everyone into action. Shelters were built, resources were gathered, and everyone did everything they could to ensure that humanity would live. That everyone left would survive the frost. Yes, Astrid remembers her first steps filled her to the brim with something she couldn’t place at the time. Something undeniably promising.

The biting wind couldn’t touch the hope burning in her chest.

A few months later, the temperature started dropping, and the beginnings of discontent were brewing. It was in the smallest details that Astrid noticed things were changing. A confident march turning into a limp, chatter developing into conspiratory whispers, food rations diminishing over time, and before long, careless injuries becoming commonplace. With physical exhaustion creeping in and a steady increase in cold that only works to add to the growing number of people in the infirmary, the city became quiet. 

The people are tired, and God, Astrid is tired too.

With discontent came retaliation, and it wasn’t long before the city’s transformation made it difficult to recognize. Outcries in the streets took the city leaders by storm as strikes, theft, and needless fighting overwhelmed the people with scathing resentment. Resentment towards the cold, the city, and most importantly, the people leading it. And so, chaos was met with order. Astrid can feel eyes on her as she methodically walks single file with the rest of her work unit everyday. Nervous jitters seem to find her no matter where she is, and it’s beginning to eat away at her mind. 

With cautious footsteps, Astrid makes her way to the foot of the ladder that leads to the top of the generator. The only solace they have. The only place she doesn’t feel watched. But what once was a daring hideaway has become a dangerous risk, and the consequences are dire. A distinct feeling in her chest reminds her that there will soon be a time where the gamble will not be worth the rewards. 

But there are friends waiting for her at the top. 

With a painful inhale and a knot in her stomach, she makes her ascension. 

**23:20:22:36**

Their footsteps beat against the ground rapidly, slowly gaining speed as they rush ahead with reckless abandon. Heavy breaths escape in white puffs of air as their heartbeats pound in their ears, but the noise doesn’t compare to the thundering sound of stampeding guards that echoes into the silence of the night, growing louder and louder as their pursuers speed towards them. The determined grip the three have on each other’s hands becomes bathed in a bright yellow light as every turn they pass seems to hold another set of officers waiting to intercept the group. The occasional bark of orders behind them only works to fuel their desperation. 

With a sudden urgent tug on his hand, August is rushed to a sudden stop before being dragged into the pitch blackness of the side street. With tattered walls and stacks of snow-piled scrapped materials surrounding their makeshift hiding spot, the trio naturally clutches onto each other as they attempt to silence the harsh gasps that slip past their lips. 

It had simply been another midnight rendezvous to the top of the beacon, nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that gave August any impression that this night would be any different from the last hundred. And yet, the blinding lights that had illuminated the group upon their descent spoke of instant guilt and a promise of punishment. Without a second thought, August found Astrid and Juno’s hands through his spotty vision and took off before the nameless figures before them could raise their weapons. 

Hurriedly, Astrid makes her way to Juno’s side and raises her hands to the sides of their face. With hushed tones and imploring stares, she whispers something urgently to them that causes an almost imperceptible shift in their expression. The detached blank gaze in their eyes slowly becomes grave, almost as if a quiet understanding was passed between the two. One that felt critical, ripe with grim significance. With a final shared breath, Juno nods before Astrid makes her way towards August’s prone form. 

“I know that look in your eyes,” Astrid’s words fall as gentle puffs of air onto his flushed skin; he can’t suppress the shaking that travels across his body. “I know what you’re thinking.” He barely notices her tug him closer by the fabric of his jacket sleeve before she continues, “Please don’t look at me like that. Not now.”

His response comes out as nothing more than a whisper, “Like what?”

A pained smile crosses her face before she inches forward ever so slightly, lips softly brushing against the crown of his head.

“Like this is your fault.”

Before he could so much as open his mouth to reply, the comfortable warmth of her presence is stripped away as she takes off for the streets once more. Her shouts and cries into the night are all it takes to invite a swarm of guards chasing after her retreating figure, leaving a wordless silence draping itself on the shoulders of the two people she needed to save. The two remaining survivors.

  
  
  
  


August isn’t sure how much time passes before he hears a wobbly voice take him out of his haze

“August.”

A sluggish turn of his head reveals Juno’s curled up form bracing itself against the icy wall at their back. Their gaze is trained on the spaces between their fingers as they seem to soak in the heaviness of their new circumstances, their stillness betraying none of the thoughts running through their mind. 

“It’s happening again, isn’t it.” And, with a growing pit of despair breathing its way into his veins, August realizes a simple ugly truth.

They won’t be seeing Astrid ever again.

**\--:--:--:--**

**Juno** is many things. For one, they are an optimist. 

In one of the quiet hours before sunrise, Lucia had wearily confessed to Juno that she was terrified of the cold. That the thought of the temperature dropping even further was permeating her day to day thoughts. That her mind was insisting it would be better to give up before the generator froze over and all hope is lost. That she desperately wanted someone to tell her that there was something waiting for them at the end of all of this. And Juno, with a significant look that left no room for doubt, steadfastly replied, “Even the longest winters will eventually turn to Spring. I want you there with me when it happens.”

They are also a hard worker.

On days where Astrid was unable to bring herself to leave her bed, when everything was simply too much and she couldn’t stop herself from being bitter at the world and at herself for being so weak when everyone needed her to be strong, Juno met her halfway. In soft tones and promises sealed with linked pinkies, they assured her, “I’ll be there with you every step of the way. I can handle the heavy lifting, but I’d still love for you to be by my side.” In the end, Astrid always found herself greeting the day with a friend close at hand. 

And of course, they’re a dreamer. 

August remembers seeing Juno for the first time in the dead of night on the outskirts of the city. Cloaked in dark coats and blankets that distorted their silhouette with every passing gust of wind, they stood facing the vast emptiness of the landscape surrounding the safety of their home. He remembers asking if they were alright, to which he was met with a gentle hum that floated between them. Gazing into the blankness before them, he asked what they were looking at. With a rose-colored tint coating their words, they responded easily, “The future.”

In the moment, watching them turn towards him with a smile that clashed with the dried tear track on their cheeks, August realized they were also a liar. 

There was a time when they had been an optimist, when they had been a hard worker, when they had dreams that drove them further than they thought possible. They remember  _ he _ had liked that about them. That their naivety was something precious, that they should never change. And so, even after time had passed, when frost had glaciated the world and optimism had long been exchanged for bitter cynicism, they reanimated the version of themself that was shot in the crossfire. The version of themself that they knew people liked. The version that  _ he _ had liked. 

And so, they started telling lies. 

In a sense, they truly enjoyed the lies they told. The truth can be torturous, but there are endless possibilities for lies. Many can bring a light to an otherwise dark reality, even if it’s only for a moment. Others bring wonder and curiosity to a bleak tomorrow, and some can even reignite the spark of hope in someone’s eyes. Yes, they’d told many very beautiful lies.

But none could top the first one. 

“Lie to me.”

“God, stop it.”

“Just lie to me! I’ll believe it, I’d believe anything, any word you say. So tell me you love me, I’ll believe it.”

He claimed the broken glass was a mistake. Simply the culmination of a series of regretful choices that soaked in the emptiness of the bottles he’d scattered around their shared room. They knew what their father was like, they should’ve known better than to ask anything of him in his state. He never meant to hurt them. Never wanted to be the one responsible for the blooming red that flowed from the ruined look in their eye. The scarlet hue poured a sloppy trail on their rigid features, trickling its way down their pale neck to the very tips of their fingers. With trembling hands, their thoughts lingered on the steady dripping of blood on the shards that encircled their bare feet. 

And in that moment, after a long string of squashed hopes and drying tears, they learned to carry their rage. Learned to let it fuel them from that night forward. With every smile came a threat, a reminder that they’d been cheated, robbed, and damaged beyond repair. With a fire in their gaze, they made a promise to themself: All those who want to see the world burn will be met with a lit match.

And so, after everything, when he’d come crawling back, with a final desperate request,

“Lie to me.”

Juno, with a new scar adorning their face, stared down at the space between his sorry eyes and replied with a smile,

“I love you.”

**00:02:36:12**

  
  


Sometimes, there are things you can only notice when you take a step back from a situation to truly take a look around. Yes, living in the moment certainly has its advantages, but you can’t always see every truth if you’re too taken by the present. An outsider’s perspective can be your greatest tool and your greatest muse if you know when to use it.

The world feels gray. It’s almost as if nothing is truly real in this moment. It’s all just a fabrication, some small studio art film that’s looking to make their big break with the perpetually smoky skies and gentle fall of snow that seem to haunt this ghost town. It’s a terribly lonely existence, sitting at the top of the world without another soul to bring color to the endless stretch of tundra as far as the eye can see. Yes, despite the silhouette of a familiar stranger that stands before him, August has never felt quite as alone as he does in this moment.

There’s something beautiful about the look in someone’s eyes the moment before their vision goes red. The calm before the storm. The final gasp of air before a tidal wave is upon you. It’s as if the cloud of self control and barely contained fury disappears for a breath as a wave of clarity washes over them. A perfectly blank gaze that betrays none of the monstrous thoughts spiraling in their mind. A clean slate, but only for a moment.

Juno stands at the edge of the beacon, the flare of the generator barely licking at their skin. Their posture is startling still, almost statue-like in its stoicism. With a whisper of hesitation, August steps forward to join them. 

Without so much as a side glance, they casually report, “The city speaks. It speaks of open rebellion. A coup.”

He isn’t surprised. The unease amongst the survivors has been growing like weeds: while manageable at the start, left untreated, it spiraled far out of anyone’s control. With a puff of air escaping his lungs, he responds, “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“You know as well as I do that it’s too late.” A sardonic grin adorns their expression as they speak, “There’s no hope left here.”

A hush falls over the pair. He knows they’re right, there aren’t enough resources for everyone. By the time their coup is over, whether they succeed or fail, they won’t be able to pick up the broken pieces in time to save anyone. Soon there won’t be anything to differentiate this place from the countless other abandoned settlements around the globe. 

“August.”

He won’t look at them. He  _ can’t _ look at them. 

“August, I think you should leave.”

He seals his eyes shut with a certain rigidness enveloping his frame. He knows where this conversation is going, and every inch of his body is screaming at him to do something. Do anything. 

“You remember what I told you here, right?” he can hear their clothing shift as they turn and look at the hideaway they’d built. When things had been easier. When they had felt invincible in the presence of the only people they had left. “It feels so long ago, doesn’t it?” A beat passes before they continue with a tone of certainty painting their words, “When I told you what I’d do to this place given the choice.”

_ L i k e a s h _

August squares his shoulders towards his friend and meets their stare, “Juno, no, you couldn’t-”

“You said it yourself,” he feels his breath catch in his throat as they continue, “A few more screws loose and this place is coming down in a pile of spare parts.”

“You wouldn’t,” his tone leaves no room for argument, but he’s certain the hidden plea in his voice rings loud and clear. 

At this, a disbelieving laugh escapes Juno and they can’t stop the mirthless smile on their face as they reply, “Wouldn’t I? You’re kidding yourself if you think I’d miss the opportunity to burn this place to the ground.” The sound of heavy footsteps fill the air as they begin to desperately pace back and forth along the edge of the tower. “This place has taken so much from me: my future, my friends, shit, I don’t even know who the hell I am anymore! Being here, letting this disaster of a city steal away everything that made me happy, it makes me fucking sick.” Their hands frantically knot themselves in their hair, the charcoal residue on their fingers painting black smears all over their locks. 

There’s something striking about the total lack of control that comes from complete and utter despair. When all semblance of order is taken away, what’s left is a frenziest chaos that destroys everything that stands in its way. It’s an alluring taste of anarchy. I wonder… How far can you fall into it before your chances of resurfacing are completely stripped away?

Before they can hurt themselves any further, August steps forward and roughly takes them by the shoulders before tugging their face into the crook of his neck. Juno’s grip tightens around their curls and August can almost feel the glower they’re burning past his head. Nevertheless, he forces himself to keep his breathing steady, as he pulls them into a crushing embrace. 

Stillness returns. In the end, they’ve spent far more time in silence than they have with meaningless phrases floating between them. The quiet is familiar. A reminder of what used to be. What could have been if things were different. If people were better. In the end, it was less about their words, and more about what they hadn’t been able to say at all. If this silence is all they have left, August thinks he’d be ok with it. 

A shaky inhale is all he hears before a tremble shakes their frame. Their posture sags until their full weight is slumped over August in exhaustion. A hushed murmur hums against his neck, “August, I don’t think there’s much of me left.” Juno’s arms fall to wrap around his torso tightly, fingers digging into his skin through the thick layers of clothing separating them. “You’re all I have. I can’t let them take you too.”

He plants his gaze firmly on the landscape behind the city lines, “You can come with me. We can leave this place, just the two of us.” His grip tightens, “You don’t need to stay here.”

The weight of this moment is not lost on him. This is the turning point. The culmination of an endless series of grievous circumstances and impossible decisions. There’s nothing more he can do or say to change what’s about to happen. What choice they’ll make. 

Though, If he’s being honest with himself, he knows what’s waiting for him. 

Juno slowly disentangles themselves from August’s arms until they’re face to face. A sad smile tugs at their lips before they delicately take his hands.

And pointedly stare between August’s eyes before speaking.

“Alright August, I’ll come with you. Let’s get out of here.”

He feels sick to his stomach.

He holds onto their hands like a lifeline, a drape of biting resignation washing over him. And all at once, he lets go and meets their expression with a smile of his own. 

They started with a lie, it seems they’ll end with one too. His fingers tug at the necklace dangling from his neck.

“Ok, I’ll meet you on the southern outskirts of town in an hour. Then we’ll leave here together.”

The two share a final look, heavy with words they’re sure they’ll never be able to say, before August makes his way down from the home they’d built in the center of the city they’d learned to despise. He can feel the weight of their gaze on him as he walks away. Despite the memories they’d created, the laughter they’d shared, and all the simple feelings that made them feel human again, he doesn’t turn back. 

There’s no need to add any more fuel to the fire. 

  
  


**00:00:00:26**

  
  


Yes, there are many things that make themselves seen only when you know to look for them. But some things are better off not being noticed. Like the expression in August’s eyes as he watches the city he used to call home go up in flames in the far distance. Shadows of his past self rise to the forefront of his mind, like a slow moving poison swimming through his veins. Each beat of his heart works to pump it further into his bloodstream, gentle caresses of burning pain. It would be easy to give in. It’s  _ always _ easier to give in.

With that, his eyes close, he turns his body towards the horizon, and he begins to whistle a familiar tune to himself. Sometimes it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie.

**00:00:00:00**

  
  



End file.
